


I'm not a Juvenile Delinquent

by K_dAzrael



Category: DCU - Comicverse
Genre: 1950s, AU, Homophobia, M/M, Racism, juvenile delinquency
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-16
Updated: 2010-07-19
Packaged: 2017-10-09 11:41:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/86909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_dAzrael/pseuds/K_dAzrael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The year is 1958, Dick Grayson is a beatnik history teacher and Damian is a brooding outsider come to shake up all the squares, jocks, hep-cats and kittens. Crazy man, craaazy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Past!future!Damian is seventeen years old here, btw. I know, I confuse myself, too.
> 
> So this fic is a product of:
> 
> 1) [](http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=tanddell)[**tanddell**](http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=tanddell) (She Who Must be Obeyed) who asked for a Dick/Damian teacher/student high school AU.
> 
> 2) My love of 50s juvenile delinquency movies; especially [High School Confidential!](http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0051724/), which this fic rips off – er, pays homage to.
> 
> 3) My long-term desire to put Damian in a situation where he has to interact with civilians his own age, strictly for the lulz.

> It's easy to be good, it's hard to be bad,  
> Stay out of trouble and you'll be glad.  
> Take this tip from me and you will see  
> How happy you can be!
> 
> Boys and girls, this is my story –  
> And I have all of my glory –  
> I know because I'm not a juvenile delinquent!
> 
> \- ['I'm not a Juvenile Delinquent' (1957)](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9p6VBngjjOo) by Frankie Lymon and the Teenagers.

 

*~*~*

**March**

 

A cream Cadillac DeVille with chrome-detailed tail fins glided serenely into a space ahead of Duke Williams, who honked his horn and waved an angry hand over the open top of his own automobile.

"Hey buddy, what are you tryin' to pull?" he yelled, putting on the handbrake and stepping out onto the asphalt. "That's my space!"

A youthful figure vaulted the closed driver's side door of the caddy and looked him over cooly. "I don't see your name on it."

Duke stepped closer, attempting to loom over the kid, who had dark hair, sharp, shrewd features and bronze-toned skin that looked like some kind of foreign. He wore a blue and white striped polo shirt with a popped collar and a pair of dark chino slacks.

"Say, what are you," Duke sneered, "a spic or somethin'?"

The kid gave him a haughty look and folded his arms across his chest. "If you must know, I have arabian heritage."

"Yeah and what's some sheik's kid doing all the way out here in Gotham?"

"My father is an American citizen," the side of his lip twitched upwards. "You may have heard of him – my last name is Wayne."

Duke loomed more, clenching his fists. "Yeah, well you'd better watch that smart mouth, little rich boy."

"No," said the kid, not flinching or backing up. "You'd better watch yours or I'll knock all the teeth out of it."

"Is that so?" Duke sneered, keeping the edge in his voice but taking a step back, feeling sweat trickle down the inside of the collar of his letter jacket. There was something really creepy about the kid's flat, almost unaccented voice and the unblinking blue-eyed stare Not bravado – not at all – just self-assurance.

"I'm only going to tell you once. You and all the other flat-top, knuckle-draggers around here better stay out of my way," with a final contemptuous glance the kid turned his back on Duke and began to walk unhurriedly towards the front steps of the main building.

"Yeah, and what if we don't? You going to run crying to your daddy, Wayne?"

"No," he called over his shoulder. "That won't be necessary."

*~*~*

The principal blinked with mild curiosity through his round horn-rimmed glasses at the youth seated across the desk from him. Damian Wayne sat looking regal and disinterested, one leg crossed over the other.

"I have studied your reports from the two private academies you attended previous to your enrollment. Your grades were impeccable but your conduct... well, I should say unacceptable. Insubordination towards teachers, truancy, verbal and physical aggression towards your peers. This is a public high school, Mr. Wayne, and it may not be such a... rarified atmosphere as that you have been accustomed to, but I can assure you that such behavior will not be tolerated here."

"As far as I am concerned," Damian replied, "this is all a waste of time. I have already had private tutoring to a level far advanced beyond that offered by _your_ curriculum. This is my father's idea – he thinks interaction with the individuals you so laughably refer to as 'my peers' will be somehow beneficial to me. In this he is mistaken, and the sooner you find an excuse to show me the door, the better."

"That," said the principal, his eyebrows rising and mouth drawing down into a frown, "shows a very poor attitude indeed, young man."

*~*~*

Dick Grayson sat on the edge of his desk at the front of the room, looking over the sea of faces before him: girls in lace-trimmed ankle-socks bobbed one foot and chewed gum, twirling locks of hair around idle fingers or doodling in note-books; earnest boys with checked button-downs and pomaded hair tried to catch their eyes. At the back sprawled the guys in jeans with turn ups, white t-shirts and leather jackets, passing notes and muttering in not-quite-low-enough voices - the conformist rebels.

"If you turn to page two hundred and thirty in your textbooks, we'll take a look at the chapter on the attack on Pearl Harbor – 'December 7 1941: a day that will live in infamy'."

As Dick embarked on another torturous attempt to make his students discuss the events of their parents' generation the door opened and a dark-haired, upright youth walked in and paused near the front.

"Ah, a new student?"

The boy held up a piece of paper with his timetable on it.

"Would you like to introduce yourself?"

"Damian Wayne."

"I'm Mr. Grayson, welcome to the class. Take a book, take a seat. We were discussing the attack on Pearl Harbor. Did you get that far in your last school?"

The boy slid into the space between the chair and the desk and raised an eyebrow as he aimed a level stare at Dick. "I am sufficiently well-versed in the battles of the second world war."

Something about the kid's aggressive priggishness made Dick smile. "Do you have an opinion on it?" he asked.

"You want my opinion?" Damian glanced down at the book, his eyes narrowing as he flipped through it.

"Yeah, why not?"

"None of the other teachers seem interested in it," the young man observed. "And none of them say 'yeah'."

Dick laughed. "Then maybe I'm not a very good teacher. So, tell me what you think."

Damian snapped the book shut. "I think this text distorts events in line with its blatant nationalistic agenda. For instance, it states that one of the primary aims of the Japanese forces in targeting Pearl Harbor was to kill American civilians; clearly it was not. The target of the mission was the only scantly manned collection of battleships and cruisers at anchor. It was a tactical mission to cripple the US navy, and the casualties were relatively light at around 2,500 deaths." He steepled his fingers and continued: "we may compare these figures to the 40,000 people who died in Hiroshima and 80,000 in Nagasaki in the wake of the atomic bombings," he flipped to the relevant section of the book, "– allegedly, _this text_ would have us believe, a 'humanitarian' effort on the part of the American government to put an end to the fighting. Of course," he said, smiling in an ironical, faintly malicious way, "white lives are deemed to be more valuable than yellow." He then finished by muttering something in what sounded like Japanese.

The class had gradually stopped its disinterested activities, and every set of eyes in the room turned upon the new kid, watching him with incredulity and, in some case, open-mouthed shock – though whether because of the radicalism of the sentiment or simply because the collective of teenagers considered it an aberration for someone to volunteer their opinions on a school subject, Dick couldn't say.

"That's, um, a very interesting point of view. I think, class, what Damian has just reminded us is that history isn't about relating 'facts' like dates – when we retell what happened it's because we want to fit events into our own cultural narrative. We _appropriate_–"

The bell rang and the rest of Dick's words were lost beneath scraping chairs and scuffling feet. As the new kid sauntered out at the rear of the class, Dick stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Damian, look, I don't have a problem with what you said, but your classmates probably will."

The kid's face stayed blank and uninterested. "I didn't come here to make friends."

"You should be careful. There's a problem with delinquency here."

"Oh, what have they done? Scrawled their names on the walls in the bathrooms? Worn denim and smoked cigarettes? Tt. I can handle morons like them."

Dick smiled and shook his head. "Just don't get yourself into trouble."

"Why not?" the kid retorted. "The sooner I get kicked out of here the better."

*~*~*

The after-school gymnastics club had gone and Dick was warming up for his own work-out in the gymnasium when he heard a commotion outside – the rhythmic jeering which signaled a fight in progress. He rushed out to see a circle of onlookers shouting on the action, two youths fighting in the parking lot.

One was a larger, stocky boy in a dusty letter jacket, blood dripping from his nose. Dick vaguely recognised him from the football team – Duke... something. The other was the new kid, Damian Wayne, pummeling the other like a creature possessed, the collar of his polo shirt torn.

Dick pushed his way through the crowd and grabbed Damian's arm, hauling him away, shouting at the others to disperse before he took their names to the principal. Damian struggled briefly and then traipsed along, allowing himself to be pulled into the gym.

"If you're trying to make an impression I assure you I'm really not _impressed_," Dick folded his arms and tried to look forbidding and teacherly.

Damian merely plucked at his shirt in an attempt to straighten it. "That little demonstration wasn't for your benefit."

"What was it in aid of, exactly? Are you trying to become head delinquent?"

"Hardly. I told that moronic specimen to leave me alone but he insisted on picking a fight."

"If someone is bullying you you should report it to a teacher."

"Are you serious?" Damian seated himself on one of the benches, crossing one leg over the other. "If I came crying to a teacher – to you – what do you think would happen? God, Grayson, do you even listen to yourself?"

Dick tamped down his irritation at the disrespectful tone of address, reminding himself that this kid was _trying_ to get himself expelled. "Fine, do it your way. It seems to be going well for you so far."

He pulled on his hand grips and continued the interrupted warm-up stretches, aware that Damian remained seated on the bench, observing him.

"You're a gymnast?"

"I was something like that, once. Now I just teach the after school club."

"You any good?"

"Stick around and judge for yourself if you want." Dick took a run and jumped up to catch the high bar. He started off with slow swings, gathering momentum to execute a series of 360-degree giant swings, moving into turns and variations in grip. Slowing on an upswing he held himself upside down above to the bar for a brief moment and eased into a splits. He then let himself swing back down, slowing his final few revolutions and releasing with a full-body twist, his feet hitting the mat ten feet away from the bar as he simultaneously raised his arms in a perfect landing.

"You're olympic standard," Damian said, a look that was part admiration and part suspicion on his face.

"Thanks, but I really don't think so," Dick removed the grips and picked up a towel, rubbing the sweat and chalk from his hands.

"Then you don't have an accurate grasp of your own abilities. Or enough ambition."

Dick smiled. "Let's just say my training wasn't exactly orthodox." He jerked his head towards the bar. "Do you want to try?"

Damian nodded in acceptance of the challenge, standing up to pull his torn shirt off and discarding it on the bench behind him and toeing off his shoes. As he crossed the floor and hopped for the bar, Dick caught his waist to give him a boost, then pushed him from behind to help him gain momentum. He proceeded to guide the younger man through a few simple moves before helping him down, wondering what the sharp inhalation of breath meant as Damian's body slid against his own. Probably the young man wasn't used to much physical contact.

"You're a natural," Dick commented as Damian began to pull his shirt back on.

"Martial arts training... I have good upper-body strength."

Dick raised an eyebrow. "Martial arts?"

"My grandfather is a very powerful man... with many enemies."

"I um... I see, I guess. So, how would you feel about joining the club? Gymnastics club I mean."

"With other people?" Damian's nose wrinkled in that way Dick was already starting to find strangely endearing.

Dick threw the towel to him. "You'd better get used to it, little prince. I have a feeling you're going to find it harder to get yourself expelled from this school given the generous donations of your father."

"How do you know about that?"

"Staff-room gossip. It's true though isn't it, he's financing the new wing of science labs?"

In response Damian made another of his eloquent little sounds of annoyance.

"Whatever you do, you'll be stuck here for a while," Dick smiled brightly. "So why not make the best of it?"

*~*~*  


**April**

 

Dick slammed the hood down on the steaming engine of his ancient Plymouth and kicked a front wheel in frustration, turning his coat collar up against the rain. As he was still contemplating whether to trudge home or go inside and phone the auto-club the purr of a well-tuned engine caught his attention.

"Your radiator is leaking," called Damian Wayne, leaning across the front seat to pop the catch of the passenger side door. "Need a ride?"

Dick climbed in to the idling cadillac and shut the door. "My place is at thirty-fourth and Lincoln – is it out of your way?"

"Only a little."

"Sorry, I'm dripping on your upholstery."

"Like I care. This contraption is an ugly symbol of the excesses of western consumer culture."

Dick laughed. "What do you think your father would say about that point of view?"

"I wouldn't know. My father and I don't speak often."

"Oh," Dick finished lamely, rubbing the back of his neck. "So... what are you doing at school this late?"

"I was in the library doing some research."

"Yeah?"

"I met the librarian, your Miss Gordon."

"She's not my Miss Gordon."

Damian glanced over at him. "But you used to be engaged, didn't you?"

"How did you–"

"It's all over the school. Scandal of the year, it seems."

"Wow, you must have actually talked to _other people_ to find this out."

Damian ignored the quip. "She's beautiful... consensus seems to be that that makes it more of a tragedy... but I don't see how it would be any less of an inconvenience for her to be unable to walk if she was ugly–"

"Don't you dare talk about her in that damn casual way," Dick snapped, fixing his eyes on the road beyond the movement of the windscreen wipers.

Damian gave a rolling shrug of his shoulders, both of his hands on the steering wheel. "Fine."

There was a tense silence for about half a minute. When they drew to a halt at a red light, Dick spoke up again: "what were you 'researching', anyway? I don't suppose it was your history term paper."

"No. Your background, mainly."

"Some people would consider that information confidential."

"Newspaper clippings on microfilm are public record. You intrigued me when you said your gymnastics training was 'unorthodox'." The younger man glanced at Dick. "You used to be a trapeze artist."

"Yeah, used to be. When I was a kid."

"Until both your parents died in an accident that wasn't really an accident."

"There was never any definite proof of sabotage."

"Sure. Or the police were paid off."

"Does it matter? It was a long time ago... there's nothing that can be done about it now."

"I just don't get you, that's all. Orphaned at twelve, then ward of the state – I mean, I thought circuses were like families – couldn't any of them adopt?"

"They wanted to. They weren't considered appropriate guardians – no fixed addresses, none of them were blood relations."

"Why teaching?"

"I don't know. I wanted some stability, I guess."

Damian let out an amused exhalation through his nose. "The man who flies through the air with the greatest of ease craves 'stability'?"

Dick shrugged. "I must have."

They fell silent again as the car pulled away from the intersection. Damian's eyes were on the road, his right arm draped over the back of the bench seat, fingertips almost brushing Dick's shoulder. Dick smiled as it occurred to him that he was being driven around as if he was the kid's date, and he gazed at Damian's profile for a moment, the stern jawline and high cheekbones. If he darkened around his eyes he'd be a regular Rudolph Valentino.   
The young man was wealthy, hyper-intelligent and exotically good looking – kind of a wonder that the girls weren't already swooning into his arms. Well, there was an abrasive personality to contend with – and he couldn't imagine Damian Wayne considering it anything other than beneath his dignity to court women of his own age.

Beautiful, messed-up kid.

"My apartment building is right there on the next corner." When Damian pulled the vehicle over to the curb, Dick put his hand to the door handle, then drew back, turning to look at him again. "Thanks for the ride and... sorry I was sharp with you earlier. I'm still kind of raw about Barbara. People said – still say – I didn't want a cripple for a wife." He paused and added: "but for the record... she broke it off, not me."

Damian stared at him levelly. "I already knew that."

"You did? Did Barb– Miss Gordon, tell you?"

"Tt. No, but she didn't have to. It's obvious – you're a boy scout, Grayson. You would have stayed with her and been cheerful about it too."

"Yeah. You know, it's funny – I think that's what she couldn't stand... that it didn't make a difference to me." Dick opened the door and stepped out onto the pavement. "Thanks, again."

He almost wanted to ask Damian in for coffee, but he told himself it wasn't really appropriate. Instead he closed the door and lifted his hand in a wave.

*~*~*  


**July**

 

Dick stepped out from the cool of the house into the blazing sunshine beating down on the tiled terrace. He shaded his eyes with his hand and glanced up to see a light-eclipsed figure on the high-board, who suddenly sprung and plunged with an elegant twist into the sparkling water below. When the man in the pool broke the surface, his dark hair plastered down, he struck out with an arm and propelled himself into front crawl. The butler at Dick's side cleared his throat.

"Master Damian, a Mr. Grayson to see you."

Damian reached the edge of the pool and propped his chin on folded arms, his eyes looking a more profound shade of blue when set against skin tanned a deeper shade of gold. "Very good Pennyworth. Bring our guest some refreshments."

The butler aimed an arch look at Dick that he was far from understanding and disappeared.

"I heard you got suspended just before the end of term. I brought you your summer assignments." Dick indicated the bundle of papers under his arm.

"What for? You don't expect me to do them." Damian pulled himself out of the pool and padded – completely naked – over to a wooden lounger and lay down on top of a towel spread over it, apparently intending to sun himself dry. "If you want to go for a swim there are spare suits and towels in the changing room over there."

"Um, no thanks."

"Well, at least sit down and take off that ridiculous sweater-vest – it's July."

Dick sat down on the spare lounger, feeling faintly foolish, and pulled off the oppressively hot item of clothing, then pulled off his bow tie and shoved it into his pocket, undoing the first two buttons on his shirt. As he did so his fingers fumbled uncharacteristically, as he had become transfixed by the sight of a droplet of water sliding down Damian's neck and trickling into the hollow of his collar bone, then–

Damian opened one eye and seemed to misinterpret his staring. "Oh, _what_? I didn't think you were a prude, Grayson. It's no more than you see in the locker room."

"I thought they were kind of down on nudity where you come from."

"For women, sure."

"Do you miss it – Arabia I mean?"

"No. We travelled around a lot – Medina, Riyadh, Abu Dhabi, Dubai... my mother didn't really want me tagging along. I cramp her style, I suppose."

"Seems like a nice place you've got here."

"Tt. My father's second best mansion? Yeah, I hear he keeps all his illegits out here in the suburbs."

"Don't use that word – it's ugly."

"'Illegits'?"

"'Suburbs'."

Damian opened one eye and smirked back at him.

"You know," Dick observed, leaning back on his hands and squinting at the sun dancing off the water, "if you bothered to make some friends I'm sure they'd love to come out here and hang out with you."

The younger man raised himself on his elbows. "Gee whizz! And we'd play records from the hit parade and drink soda-pop? That'd be _the most_!"

"Do you just hate everyone and everything?" Dick asked, half playful.

Damian smiled and stretched, languid and catlike. "Well, I don't exactly hate you."

"I..." the footsteps of the returning butler made them pause in their exchanges. Damian draped the edge of the towel across his waist as the elderly man came back into view, bowed under the the weight of a silver tray on which stood a jug of iced tea and high-ball glasses.

"Thank-you Pennyworth," Damian said as the refreshments were placed on the table between the loungers; the words seemed to come haltingly. "That will be all." The teenager and the servant then had another strange, tense exchange through eye contact.

"Very good, sir," Pennyworth had a way of saying 'sir' with a particular pitch that made it sound just this side of sarcasm. He folded the salver beneath his arm and disappeared again, his shoes clicking regularly on the tiles.

"He's... loyal to my father," Damian explained in a murmur, rolling his eyes as he reached for a glass and drinking half of its contents down in one long gulp, throat working. He replaced what was left on the table and turned over onto his front, letting the towel fall away again. "No doubt he reports back on what I've been up to."

Dick tried not to stare at the shifting back muscles and firm, rounded backside that was only slightly paler than the rest of Damian. The dialogue of those slick, tamely risqué silver screen exchanges between hero and beach-babe heroine involving chivalrous offers concerning the application of tanning lotion went through his head.

"Are you busy tonight?" Damian asked, pillowing his head on his arms. "I hear there's a 'poetry jam' at one of the juke joints downtown. We could go and laugh at the beatniks, might be fun."

"Do all your ideas of a good time involve sneering at other people?"

"Grayson, clearly you don't understand. This poetry will be really, _really_ bad." Damian raised himself slightly on his elbows. "Flowers and sunsets and suicidal feelings bad."

Dick laughed, and thought to himself, _what the heck – why not?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revisionist history FTW! Yeah man!
> 
> Damian is depicted as caucasian in the comics, but I'm guessing he inherited some of his mother's middle-eastern skin tone. He refers to Talia as Arab here, but her real heritage is quite complicated – in his post-crisis origin story, R'as al Ghul is descended from a nomadic tribe of the Arabian peninsula who migrated there many generations previously from China and Talia's mother is of European/Chinese/Arab descent. I'm not trying to make fun of the past in a 'gosh weren't they folksy and racist then?' kind of a way, it's more just an acknowledgement that beloved billionaire Bruce Wayne having a mixed-race and illegitimate son would have been something that wouldn't escape general comment in 1958.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All I have to say is: I like you Will Shakespeare and imma let you finish that sonnet, but [High School Drag](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bVOXxDV5BdI) is one of best poems of all time. OF ALL TIME.

**July**

 

_'We cough blood on this earth.  
Now there's a race for space.  
We can cough blood on the moon soon._

Tomorrow's dragsville, cats.  
Tomorrow is a king size drag.'

A girl with side-swept hair, high-waisted slacks and a smouldering zobranie stepped down from the raised platform to applause as the jazz pianist started up again.

"Please tell me that's the last one," Dick took another sip of beer. "My stomach is starting to hurt from keeping the laughter in."

Damian stirred the remains of his ginger ale. "Have any of these people heard of scansion or a rhyme scheme?"

"Like, you're a stone-cold bring-down, man. Wanna call it a night?"

*~*~*

Dick leaned his head back and rested his temple against the window.

"You're drunk," Damian observed.

"No I'm not, I'm just... 'buzzed' as the kids say. Besides, you did offer to drive."

"Well, I wouldn't be seen in your heap of junk."

Dick opened his eyes. "You know, I was never billed for the repairs? I called but they said the account had been settled."

"It's a complete mystery," Damian commented.

"Hey, I don't need your charity you know!"

He gave that aggressively careless shrug. "My allowance from my mother is more than I can spend. I don't think she understands the exchange rate."

"Well... thanks, I guess," Dick closed his eyes again, smiling drowsily. "... and also for tonight. It's been fun."

"You look happy."

"Don't I always?"

"You smile a lot, I don't think it's necessarily the same thing."

"I can probably count on one hand the times I've seen you crack a smile. You only seem to do it when someone's amusing you with their stupidity."

"Why do you think I keep you around?" Damian's lip curled at one side.

"There we go," Dick leaned over and poked the dimple the smile made. "You know, you remind me of Barbara sometimes. She liked making comments about what a goof I am. I missed that."

"Pretty sure that says something about you, Grayson." Damian fell silent for a moment, then glanced over at him, looking a little sly. "Is that _all_ you miss?"

"What's that supposed to mean?

"You know what it means."

"That is so... well, none of your business."

"Come on, the guys at school all say there's no reason to get engaged unless you want to get her to let you 'take liberties'."

"That's disgusting. Disrespectful."

"Is it? So you two didn't–"

"Of course not. I don't know why anyone would risk getting someone they love, you know, 'in trouble'. It wasn't like I was financially secure enough to marry her in the near future if... well..."

"And did Miss Gordon agree with this puritanical plan of yours?"

"I guess... I never asked her," Dick frowned. "I hope you're not taking risks, Damian. You should pay attention to those posters in health class."

Damian shook his head and cracked a smile again. "It amuses me when you pretend to be a teacher."

"I meant to ask you, what did you get suspended for anyway?"

"I refused to say the Pledge of Allegiance in home room."

"They suspended you for that?"

"Well, at first there was talk of an after-school detention, but then some kid called me a commie and I broke his nose. I think it forced them to up their game."

"Damian!" Dick groaned plaintively, "you need to learn to control your temper."

"Why? Thump them a few times and the morons start to leave you alone."

"Don't you care that everyone thinks you're a delinquent thug?"

"Not particularly, no."

Dick looked over at the younger man and thought about how few weeks previously one of the guys in gymnastics club had made a comment about him smelling like camel as Damian walked past. The individual in question had ended up upside down in a wire container filled with basketballs – that was kind of funny, and Dick had a hard time acting stern and disapproving while bawling Damian out.

_Besides_, he thought to himself, _Damian actually smells like glyercin soap_.

When the car pulled up on his block he thanked his companion for the ride and fumbled with the door handle.

"That sticks sometimes," Damian said, "you know, 'crappy american workmanship'." He leaned over to pop the catch, his shoulder and side pressing against Dick's chest, and Dick found himself instinctively leaning into it for a moment, just to feel the warmth of the other man's body – but then, abruptly, he pulled himself away, shrinking back into the seat as Damian regarded him with narrowed eyes.

Dick almost cursed under his breath: that other men weren't tactile the way he himself had been brought up to be was something he had become keenly aware of since he was a teenager. It was another reason why he had gravitated towards sports, where the kinds of acceptable contact were more clearly marked out.

"Sorry – oh – I mean..."

"Grayson, it's ok," Damian planted his hands on Dick's shoulders, thumbs kneading small circles. "You can just invite me up."

"Yeah, yeah sure, I could probably use some coffee..." Dick said, his heart still beating fast in his chest as he ran a hand back through his hair and stepped out onto the sidewalk.

Once inside the building, Damian stayed close behind him as they mounted the stairs, and Dick was very aware of the other's presence as he stood on the darkened landing, fumbling with the key until the lock finally clicked and the door swung inwards.

"Did this place remind you of a circus trailer or something?" said Damian as he stepped into the long, narrow apartment – a bedroom with a partitioned-off kitchenette.

Dick laughed softly as he closed the door behind them. "Yeah, I guess–" as he turned he realised that Damian hadn't stepped away and was staring at him intently.

"What?" he asked, as one hand reached out and touched his shoulder, the other brushing through his hair. "Damian, what are you–"

The room seemed to get darker as the other man leaned in close, and Dick could feel the hot, intense play of breath over his face. Suddenly there was the clumsy press of lips against Dick's own, then Damian made a low, desperate sound in his throat and corrected the angle, surging against him. Dick gasped into the other man's mouth, feeling the pressure of a hipbone against his abdomen and then – _oh God, that's not a hipbone _–

He shoved Damian away, holding up his hands in front of his chest as a distancing gesture. "Stop, stop. You're... confused."

Damian rubbed the back of his hand across his bottom lip, which glinted faintly with saliva. "Really? Because I think you're the one who's confused."

"I'm not angry, I want you to know that," Dick could hear himself babbling as he stepped to the side and gave the younger man a wide berth on his way past. "Look, sit down. You can talk to me. You're a teenager, it's a very confusing time–"

"Oh _God_, Grayson, just shut up!"

"No, no, I get it, I mean, you're very isolated," Dick milled his hands about as he spoke. "You don't know, uh, people your own age, _girls_–"

"Grayson," Damian crossed his arms over his chest. "Sit down and stop having hysterics."

"I'm not– ok," Dick sat down on the bed, then jumped up and moved to a chair.

"So... I take it I'm the first male you've kissed?" Damian leaned back against the door.

"I didn't– I mean you kind of..."

"Yeah. And you weren't leaning into me earlier? You don't like touching me, or just looking at me?"

"It's... I mean, everyone looks at... people their own sex. That's not weird. Everyone does it."

"Yeah, sometimes – but they don't think what _you're thinking_ when they do. Trust me. It took me a while to work that out."

"I'm not like that – I'm not an invert. I was just _engaged_, dammit!"

"'Invert'? Tt! that's such a stupid term."

"What do you want me to call it – queer, pansy?"

"You could try 'homosexual'."

"Damian... you're not."

There was the sound of the door handle rattling and the creak of the hinges "Don't tell me what I'm not."

"Wait–"

But Damian didn't. The door slammed and all Dick could do was put his head in his hands and take a long, shaky breath.

*~*~*

"Hey Babs," Dick said, offering up a tense smile as he saw his ex-fiancée wheeling herself towards the library desk at which he sat, surrounded, as he was, by stacks of medical textbooks. He found himself admiring the way her coppery hair was loosely pinned up and unlacquered, so a few tendrils fell down around her face, and how she maneuvered the heavy chair in such a way as made it look easy. She wore a below-the-knee skirt of dark blue wool with a matching bolero jacket and a cream-coloured silk shirt with ruffles at the neck line.

"Hey yourself. You've been requesting some odd titles. I mean _Psychopathia Sexualis_, really? Something you want to tell me, Dick?"

"Yeah, I'm one of those guys who likes shoes. Just the sight of that low-heeled court you have on there is making it difficult to control myself."

Barbara scrunched her nose up and punched his arm lightly, but he could tell she was trying not to laugh. "Seriously Grayson, what's the secret after-hours research project?"

Dick drummed his fingers on the table top and said: "look, I have this friend. A student of mine, actually. He says... he thinks he's a homosexual. So I'm trying to learn a bit more about it. Maybe I can help him or something – I don't know."

Barbara tapped her bottom lip. "Then you want the first Kinsey Report. All this stuff is hideously out of date - nineteenth century, most of it."

"Kinsey Report? You mean this school actually carries a copy?"

"Shh, it was special order. What the board of governors doesn't know doesn't get me fired."

Dick grinned with her conspiratorially and suddenly felt a deep pang of loss. As she went to move away he laid his hand on her forearm. "You know, I still really miss you."

She lowered her head. "Please don't make me go into it again."

"I'm sorry. I just... I keep wondering what I did wrong. If I could have been more sensitive or said the right things..."

"It wasn't that... you were sweet. Perfect. One day I just woke up and realised it wouldn't work out for us. I need more than a friend, Dick."

"Wasn't I ever more than a friend?"

The dark green eyes behind the lenses of her glasses held his in a steady gaze. "You were a really, _really_ good friend – but no, I don't think so. The accident didn't change anything, it just made me realise that."

He lifted his hand and she moved herself backwards and then forwards to turn a half-circle and go back the way she came. "I'll get you that book, ok? Good luck helping your friend."

*~*~*  


**August**

 

The ringing of the telephone seemed to come from very far away, then became suddenly loud as Dick woke with a start, reaching out and fumbling for the receiver in the intense dark.

"Hello?"

"Grayson." That clipped, weirdly accentless tone he would know anywhere.

"Damian? What time is it? What's going on?" in the background Dick could hear talking, yelling and what sounded like typing.

"I need... some assistance."

"Are you injured? Where are you?"

"Fifth precinct. I had enough money to make bail, I just need a ride and an adult to sign the release."

"Jesus, Damian. What did you do?"

"Well I didn't _murder_ anyone," the teenager retorted, sounding affronted. "So are you going to help me or not?"

Dick heard himself sigh and rubbed his eyes. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

*~*~*

The clock in the police station read two-thirty-three as Dick walked up to the front desk. After the desk sergeant had glared at Dick for a minute or two as the necessary papers were signed, Damian was lead in from a back room, where there were holding cells with a collection of relatively well-heeled men standing around looking pale and sick.

Damian nodded in recognition, but they didn't speak a word to each other as they walked briskly out of the building and to the car.

"So," said Dick as he shut the driver-side door. "What'd they get you for, drag-racing? Pot party?"

Damian tilted his head back and closed his eyes. "I was in a bar."

"Drinking?"

"That wasn't why I was arrested."

"No?"

The younger man sighed as if Dick was being very obtuse. "It was a _pansy_ bar. They spring up from time to time, then word gets around, they get raided. Guess it wasn't my lucky night."

"Are they pressing charges?"

"Don't think so. I claimed I didn't know what kind of a place it was. Then they caught sight of my real ID – my driver's license. After that they suddenly seemed real keen to get rid of me. Probably thought one of my father's attorneys was going to burst in and have them all brought up on corruption charges."

"So... where do you need a ride to?"

Damian rubbed the back of his neck. "A hotel, I suppose. I told the butler I was staying at a friend's place tonight."

"Then make good on the lie and come back to my place. Unless it's not classy enough for you?"

"Beggars can't be choosers I suppose."

*~*~*

Damian came back from the bathroom down the hall, closing the apartment door behind himself. Dick was kneeling on the floor arranging blankets and pillows.

"Sorry there's only the floor to sleep on. I made you a nest."

"I see that." Damian said, setting his folded clothes on a chair. "It's fine."

"PJs fit ok?"

"Yes," Damian got down on the floor and started arranging the blankets around himself.

"Well, goodnight I guess," Dick pulled the covers back and climbed onto his own bed, then he turned off the light and lay back, pulling the sheets over his lower half. He closed his eyes and felt the play of the breeze over his body from the open window. Straining his ears he could hear the soft sound of Damian's breathing – which he found oddly comforting in some deep, animal way.

"Hey Damian."

"Mm?"

"Look, I did some reading about... homosexuality."

"Yeah? Good for you."

"I just want you to know I understand it better now. I mean, I know you're not confused. I'm sorry I said that, and I didn't listen to you."

"Believe me, it could have been worse. Most guys would punch you out if you tried to kiss them."

"Yeah, but I grew up around bearded ladies and men in leotards - I shouldn't be so uptight."

Damian laughed softly, then after a pause said: "goodnight, Grayson."

*~*~*

In the morning Dick got out of bed and nimbly stepped over Damian's sleeping form, noting that even in sleep the kid looked pissed-off, his brow furrowed by whatever he was dreaming about.

Dick went into the kitchen to start on breakfast. The clanging of pans and cupboard doors eventually drew in his guest, still in pyjamas and with his hair ruffled.

"Morning, sleepy-head. Help yourself to coffee."

Damian sat down on one side of the small card table against the wall and poured himself a cup from the pot as Dick began to scrape the eggs from the pan and onto the plates already laid with toast.

"I don't know what you normally eat, I mean, back home... I hope this is ok."

"My people are familiar with the phenomenon of bread and cooked eggs," said Damian, raising one eyebrow.

"Are your people familiar with the phenomenon of not being a smart-ass when someone cooks you breakfast?"

"Yes... thank-you, Grayson," the younger man managed, hands bunching the fabric of his pyjama bottoms.

Dick smiled and tilted his head in gracious acknowledgement as he sat down at the other place-setting. They ate in silence for a while, and Dick was surprised to find how hungry he was – the dramatic events of the previous evening had obviously worked up an appetite – which reminded him of the reason his young friend was currently seated opposite.

"Damian... you know about last night – and where you were. You shouldn't put yourself in danger like that."

Damian shrugged and sipped his coffee. "What choice do I have? Besides, it's anonymous, therefore safer than trying it with friends and acquaintances. People who could make it difficult for me."

"Has that happened – before, I mean?"

Damian's gaze lowered and parallel frown lines appeared between his eyebrows. "There was... a boy back home. We were... close, for a time. He got scared, so he told his family it had all been my idea and that I'd coerced him. They threatened my mother with exposure so she had to buy them off. Then she sent me here, so I'd be out of the way, and now it's my father's problem if I disgrace the family."

Dick whistled softly. "So I guess that's why the butler keeps such a close eye on you?"

"Subtle, isn't he?"

"I think I'm beginning to get why you're so angry with the world. So isolated."

"Yeah," Damian looked at him over the rim of the coffee up. "What's your excuse?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're pondering attitudes to homosexuality in the fifties, why not traumatise yourself with this public service announcement, ['Boys Beware!'](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MmqNiFJyI28). Oh, good lord.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, oh so sorry, that this took so long! PhD thesis is mainly responsible, but so is a bit of a creative block. I'm not sure how the sexytiemz will work for y'all – since this story is Dick p.o.v. I had to mediate what was happening through his (limited) sexual vocabulary.

**August**

  
"Why is it that this city has so many fun-fairs?" Damian asked, watching Dick tossing another piece of popcorn into his mouth as they walked between the booths on the sparsely grassed, well-trodden ground.

"Don't know.. people here need a lot of cheering up, I guess. Look, hoop throwing!"

"It's a _scam_, Grayson. The diameter of the rings is less than that of the targets – everyone knows that." Damian jerked his head in the direction of a booth on the other side of the path. "How about the shooting gallery?"

"Let me guess – that mysterious past of yours involved marksmanship training?"

"Afraid I'll outclass you?" the corner of Damian's mouth lifted in a self-satisfied little smirk.

Dick sighed and crossed to the attraction in question, then paid up his twenty-five cents and took up an air rifle. He was able to ping the tin targets on three out of five of his shots.

"Tt," said Damian, laying down his money, scrutinizing the rifle in his hands, and then proceeding to hit five out of five. "You have to compensate for the crooked sight."

The booth attendant flicked the ash off his roll-up and reached up to the shelves by his side to hand Damian a kewpie doll, which the younger man stared at with some disdain.

"What am I supposed to do with this, exactly?"

"I dunno kid – give it to your sweetheart why don't ya?"

Dick laughed and Damian shoved his shoulder, then as they walked away he pushed the doll at his older companion.

"Does this mean we're going steady?" Dick crinkled his brow to look earnest. "Gee, I'm not sure I'm ready for that kind of commitment."

"Not funny. Throw the stupid thing in the trash or give it to one of your schoolgirl admirers."

"No, no, I'll treasure it forever," Dick insisted, still grinning as he tucked the doll under his arm. "Come on, let's go and test your bravery against the plywood ghosts in the haunted house."

*~*~*

Later in the evening, they sat on a bench on the edge of the grounds where the grass was stubbly and sun-burned, and somewhere nearby crickets chirruped. It was far enough away from the attractions that the fair became picturesque – the red and yellow lights of the big wheel twinkled as it revolved, laughter and the faintly warped lilt of the carousel music filtered to them muted by the distance.

"Do you even know what's in these?" Damian frowned, drawing his dark eyebrows together.

"I try not to think about it. Stop being a baby and eat the darn hotdog."

Damian took a mouthful and chewed it carefully. "It's not that bad. Relatively – and I have lived in Marrakech, where the traditional breakfast food is goat meat preserved in rancid fat."

"Sometimes I think you make this stuff up just to mess with me. I mean that story about Borneo and the orangutans, for instance–"

"You wound me, Grayson." Damian finished another bite. "It's far beneath my dignity to lie."

"Well in that case, there is something I've been meaning to ask you." Dick hesitated and then began: "you know the way you are..."

When the sentence trailed off Damian ventured: "a foreigner, or..."

"The other thing."

"Homosexual, yes."

"I guess I've been wondering – was it something you always knew? I mean, was it that deep down you always felt _different_, or something that just clicked into place later on, like when you were old enough to start noticing girls – except obviously you didn't?"

Damian considered the question, then answered: "both."

"And you've really never been interested any girl, ever?"

"I don't think I could go to bed with one, if that's what you're asking."

"So, you're like a six on the scale?"

"What?"

"Oh, Kinsey scale. It goes from zero – 'exclusively heterosexual' – to six – 'exclusively homosexual'. I just think it's interesting, you know... that there are all these other possibilities between them that nobody talks about."

"Where do you think _you_ are?"

Dick paused for a long moment. "I don't know. I like girls, I used to think that was all there was to it... that it didn't matter if I wasn't exactly your stereotypical red-blooded American male."

"Now you think different?"

"Maybe," Dick avoided Damian's eyes. "I'm not sure it matters, even if..."

"Why? Why wouldn't it matter?" Damian demanded, a little sharply. "Because you would never act on it?"

Dick shrugged and then nodded.

Damian narrowed his eyes as he gazed towards the lights of the fair. "You're a coward." After a beat he shook his head. "No, I don't mean that. You're not like anyone I've ever known and I don't understand you. I don't understand why someone so extraordinary would work so hard to be a nobody."

"I'm the kid who ran away from the circus to join the real world." Dick's shoulders slumped. "Not as fun as the other way round, I guess."

*~*~*

On a Saturday afternoon, as he was returning on foot from a gymnastics team meet up at the school, Dick found a Rolls-Royce Silver Wraith idling by the kerb in front of his apartment building. He was still wondering to himself just who in this neighbourhood would own such an ostentatious thing when the driver stepped out onto the pavement. Dick recognised him as the butler who usually kept close watch on Damian. Pennyworth – that was his name. He had thinning hair carefully brushed back, an impeccably neat mustache and the kind of gaze which made Dick feel like an insect pinned to a board.

"Mr. Grayson. Mr. Bruce Wayne has requested an interview with you."

Something in Pennyworth's tone suggested that 'requested' was probably too polite a word.

"Right now?"

"Yes sir," somehow the arch inflection on 'sir' made it sound more like 'bozo'. "_Now_."

Twenty minutes later, Dick found himself stepping out an elevator onto the rooftop garden of Wayne Towers. He was shown over to one side of the lagoon-shaped pool, where in a wicker chair beneath the shade of some potted palms sat Bruce Wayne himself, easily recognisable from the society and business sections of the citywide newspapers. He was wearing white linen trousers that had been impeccably pressed, along with an open-necked shirt and an ascot – he looked like he belonged on a yacht.

"Mr. Grayson," Wayne smiled as he rose to his feet, but the expression could not be called warm. His eyes were bright and shrewd, and it was clear that Dick was being sized-up.

"Mr. Wayne. Nice of you to go to the trouble of having me kidnapped."

The remark earned Dick another handsome but inexpressive smile. Wayne sat down again and gestured to the place across the table from himself. "Can I offer you something to drink?"

"No... no, thank-you," Dick answered, lowering himself into the chair.

Wayne raised his head and nodded to the butler, who had remained standing a way off. The click-clack of shoes on tile gradually receded and then they were alone.

Wayne steepled his fingers and rested his chin on their tips. "I understand that you teach at my son's school. History and gymnastics, correct?"

"Yes, I do." Dick looked to Wayne for a cue on what he was supposed to say next, but received none, so went with: "Damian is a very bright kid."

"That's no guarantee of success in life. There are those who let their intelligence go to waste."

"It also depends on luck, I guess. And opportunity."

"You were fortunate enough to receive a Wayne Foundation scholarship as a teenager. That's how you became a teacher, isn't it, Mr. Grayson?"

Dick held the older man's gaze. "Yes, so I have reason to be grateful to your family. Is there something you think I can help you with?"

Wayne crossed one leg over the other and straightened out a wrinkle that had appeared in the fabric of his pants. "I suppose Damian told you of the circumstances surrounding his leaving Saudi Arabia?"

Dick nodded, trying not to let anything show on his face – Damian hadn't told him how much Bruce Wayne really knew about the narrowly-averted scandal.

Wayne pursed his lips, as if this confirmed something. "Of course he told you. You might think that such a thing could not happen here in America."

"I really wouldn't know."

"No?" the older man's stare was unwavering. "Alright, let me put it like this: I am aware of my son's... deficiencies. I hold myself responsible – I wasn't married to his mother and his upbringing has been unusual, unhealthy maybe. Still, Damian is my only child and I hope to make him my heir. He has been made aware of his responsibilities and how he is expected to behave."

"Why are you telling me this? If you want me to tell him to straighten up at school, believe me I have."

"I see you are refusing to understand me." Wayne sat forward and narrowed his eyes, which were dark blue, exactly like Damian's. "I can put it this way: you and my son spend a lot of time together. He has stayed overnight in your apartment. Perhaps you think that you are being discreet and that these things are not noticed, or that they can be passed off as innocent?"

"You think that I–"

"Bear in mind, Mr. Grayson, how very delicate your own position is. You have no connections in this city. You are not wealthy. If you lost your job under... dubious circumstances, what would you have?"

"Are you threatening me?"

"You must understand, I have nothing against you personally. I only want what is best for Damian."

"And you think isolating him and ignoring him is the way to go?" Dick shot him a disgusted look as he got to his feet, the chair scraping on the tiles as he pushed it back. "Let me know how that turns out for you, Mr. Wayne."

*~*~*

"My father threatened you?"

"He didn't exactly– I mean, I'm not sure if it was 'here's what might happen' or 'here's what I might _make_ happen'... but there was a definite undertone of 'back off before you get hurt, buddy'."

"Oh," Damian stared at the windshield, which was opaque with rain. "I didn't mean for you to be tainted by association."

Dick exhaled deeply and slowly through his nose. "It's not your fault."

"Well, actually, it is – my father doesn't ask for much, other than that I don't publicly disgrace him. If I could be bothered to _pretend_..."

"Pretend what?"

"To be a good little private academy boy. Get into Princeton. Marry a – someone," he gave a smile with a hint of bitterness in it. "Anyone. Take up my legacy. That's all I would have to do."

"But you won't?"

"No. I've been planning to leave for a while. Just... get out of my father's city and set up alone. I was going to wait until after my eighteenth, but I guess it doesn't really matter."

"So that's your grand plan – to run away?"

"The only alternative is to stay. What is there for me here?"

"I'm here."

"That's... starting to be a part of the problem. For you, obviously and – in a different way, for me."

"_Oh_." Dick drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and felt his face becoming flushed. "Have you tried talking to your father – I mean, explaining it?"

Damian fixed his gaze on the rain-blurred glass again, his hands clenching on his knees. "The first time I met my father... it was in his office. He didn't even come around the desk to shake my hand or clasp my shoulder."

"Wow... really?"

Damian nodded. "When I was growing up, my mother was always telling me what a great man he was – how intelligent, clear-sighted, how he was a leader that everyone admired. She told me that one day I would go to America and be his heir. Then this – the scandal happened. The first time I stood before him I felt ashamed, because I could tell from how he looked at me, that he _knew_. He wasn't happy to see me, I was just a problem that had been dumped on him. He just kept staring at me as if he was trying to detect the flaw."

After a pause during which he stared straight ahead, Damian continued: "he told me where I'd be living and how I was expected to behave. He wanted me to go and see a psychoanalyst – a 'head shrinker' – tt! Like someone telling me I'm too close to my mother – or not close enough – would make me all healthy and better."

"There's nothing wrong with you, Damian. It's the rest of the world that's screwy."

"Modern medical science would disagree."

"Well, they think everyone's nuts, one way or another."

"They want to label you – narcissist, hysteric, 'invert' – so they can have that be the explanation for everything you are. This doctor asked me if I'd ever secretly worn women's clothing, and if I was poor at sports. When I answered no, he said I wasn't being truthful." Damian turned his head and gave a bitter little smile. "Because, apparently, 'people like me' are all the same."

"That's moronic."

"I thought so. I told my father I wouldn't go back. He gave me list of rules – guidelines for what he termed 'appropriate conduct'."

"No offense Damian, but your dad is kind of a hypocrite."

"You're telling me?" Damian shook his head and then glanced back at Dick. "So, how did you react when my father accused you of having an affair with me? I almost wish I could have seen your face."

"I was angry, mainly. Not because of what he thought I was, but because he was so high-handed about it all. Sizing me up, judging me when he doesn't even know me... I kind of wanted to punch him."

"That would have been interesting."

"Yeah, would you have bailed me out of jail?"

"I owe you that much, I suppose."

"Darn right you do." Dick reached over and lightly pushed Damian's cheek with the backs of his fingers, then felt the younger man turn his head towards him, leaning into the touch like a cat – and suddenly it wasn't a joke anymore. Dick's thumb swept an arc across Damian's cheekbone, and only when the leather of the car seat creaked did he become aware that he was leaning towards the other man. Dick tilted his head and touched their lips together once – then again – just the softest brush. Damian had stopped breathing and his eyes were closed. The third touch was the signal – Dick could feel him pressing back, the point of a tongue between his lips, a gasp and the surge of Damian's body pressing up and against him.

The brief kiss broke and Damian formed the words against Dick's cheek: "we're in public,"

"It's raining pretty hard out there," Dick murmured. "No-one can see in." He kissed Damian again, finding the way it made his stomach flutter and the skin of his lips tingle oddly thrilling. Damian made a soft sound in the back of his throat, his eyes closed and hands clutching at Dick's shoulders for a moment before he sat back again and pushed Dick away, turning his face aside.

"I really don't want to get arrested for public indecency twice in once month."

Dick laughed. "Then I guess we should go somewhere private." He blushed when he saw Damian's expression. "And _talk_, I mean..."

Damian nodded and turned the key in the ignition. "Your place?"

*~*~*

Silence again on the stairs, except for the creaking of the boards beneath two pairs of feet. Dick fumbled for the right key, his hands suddenly clumsy and his heart racing. In the caddy it had seemed safer – private enough for a quick kiss, but not so secluded that they could risk anything else. _Talking – harmless talking_, he told himself, letting out a shaky breath.

The lock clicked and they moved into the apartment. Outside, blue-grey rain clouds still blocked the sun, making it seem like early dawn instead of late afternoon. Dick turned to face Damian, who was looking at him with a quiet watchfulness, as if Dick was an animal that might spook. Dick opened his mouth and then closed it again, finding that in this close, dimly illuminated space, there seemed to be nothing more to say.

Damian continued to watch him for a moment as Dick stood awkwardly in the area between the door and the bed, then took a step forward and clasped one of Dick's hands. Dick almost tugged it away, not wanting Damian to feel the tremors in his fingers or the clamminess of his palm, but with a conscious effort, he stayed still.

"Are you going to have another attack of hysteria if I kiss you?"

"Um, no?" Dick ventured.

"You don't sound very sure about that."

Dick licked his suddenly dry lips and took the initiative of leaning in again. He kissed Damian lightly, to catch the distinctness of the sensations, the shape of his mouth and the pliantness of his bottom lip. Then Dick moved closer and closed his eyes to deepen the kiss; he felt Damian licking into his mouth with the point of his tongue.

He tilted his head and forced himself to relax into it, to ignore all the parts of his brain that were shrieking about taboos and ruining his life for a fling. _I don't care_, he told himself, finding suddenly that it was true – a giddy realisation which made him pull Damian closer and bury his fingers in his hair. Damian moaned softly and stroked down Dick's back, pulling their hips together and squeezing Dick's ass with both hands, causing the older man to panic a little again and pull away.

"Wait – it's too fast... I mean, this is still all so strange to me. I'm not ready for..."

Damian took a step back and regarded him closely. "Let me guess, in the process of your 'researches' you found out some medical terms for aberrant sexual practices and you think that I'm going to want you to do all of these strange, scary things?"

"You don't?" Dick looked away, feeling foolish again. "I mean, the books said–"

"There are no rules that say exactly what you have to do in bed with another man. Not everyone enjoys the same things – and that goes for 'normal' folk too. Are you a virgin?"

Dick felt himself blush. "No!" In response to Damian's skeptical eyebrow-raise he continued: "it's not something I'm proud of. There was a girl in high school. We... things went too far. But we were lucky – she didn't... she didn't get pregnant."

"Or you would have married her?"

Dick rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged with one shoulder. "I guess."

"You're incredible, you know." Damian sat on the edge of the bed, toeing off his shoes and stripping off his socks. "Do you always let chance and other people make your decisions?" He lay back on top of the comforter, bending one leg at the knee and laying the other out flat.

"Not always."

It was darker still in that part of the room – it was almost an artificial twilight. Damian's eyes glittered. "Are you going to make a decision now?"

"I... already have, I guess."

"Then come here," Damian patted the space next to him on the bed. When Dick hesitated her smirked and said, "I promise I won't 'take liberties' with you."

"Ha – that's what they all say."

Damian's smile got wider. "Alright, I won't go further than you want me to."

"What if I'm not sure what I want?" Dick sat down next to him, reaching out, hesitantly to brush the backs of his fingers against Damian's, whose hand lay curled loosely on the comforter.

"Then start small."

"Would you..." Dick hesitated, biting his lip, "take off your shirt?"

Damian laughed, pulling his polo shirt off over his head and then taking Dick's hands and placing them on his chest. Dick kissed him again, moving his hands to map the muscles of Damian's chest, fingertips eventually gravitating to his nipples, circling the aureoles and then gently pinching, making the younger man pant into his mouth.

"Do you like that?" Dick asked, looking down at him with a curious expression.

"Ah... yes it's.." Damian paused, narrowing his eyes. "Are you thinking of this as 'second base'?"

"Um, no?"

Damian raised both eyebrows at Dick as he began to unbutton the other man's shirt.

"Ok, ok... I'm adjusting my mindset," Dick laughed and then kissed Damian again and the younger man pulled his shirt open and started to caress Dick's chest, fingernails scratching lightly. The younger man pressed against him, shifting his hips so Dick could feel the pressure of Damian's erection against his thigh.

He kissed the skin beneath Dick's ear and murmured: "do you feel that? I'm hard for you. Are you hard for me, Dick?"

Dick shuddered and let out a gasp – partly because Damian had actually used his first name, but mainly because the younger man had started rubbing him through his slacks with the palm of one hand. Damian kissed him on the mouth again and brought Dick's hand to his own crotch. Through the heavy fabric he felt Damian's penis twitch at his touch, and in response Damian moaned softly and squeezed Dick harder, tracing the outline with his fingers.

Dick made a high, startled sound before suddenly pulling his hand away. "I'm... I'm not used to..." he panted. "Oh God, I've never... not with another man."

"But you've wanted to, haven't you?" Damian sounded breathless too. "Tell me."

"Yes... yes, I've wanted to." He felt Damian stroking his jaw as he looked down. Images flashed through Dick's mind – how he had felt watching other boys as a teenager, the fascination and awkwardness he had attributed to being an outsider, an orphan.

_They don't think what you're thinking when they do. Trust me._

Then Dick found himself thinking of being by the pool that one afternoon on the terrace of the huge suburban villa, and how Damian had looked then – relaxed, self-assured, uninhibited. He had been giving Dick permission to stare at his body, although Dick hadn't realised that at the time.

He ran his hands down Damian's chest and felt the muscles tense to his touch. "Take these off?" he requested, tugging at the button on Damian's pants. Damian pulled back to flash him a smirk and hopped off the bed. He stripped off the rest of his clothes quickly, then stood, waiting, until Dick gathered his wits about him and stopped gaping long enough to move back and give him space on the bed. Damian lay down beside him, palms face-down on the mattress; he looked up at Dick, waiting for him to take the initiative again.

Dick raised himself on one elbow as he reached out to trail his fingertips across Damian's hip and down one long thigh. "You're so... I don't know... exotic. You look like you should be reclining in a silken tent or something."

"Really, Grayson – _Arabian Nights_ fantasies?" Damian gave him a wry look and Dick laughed.

"Sorry. Guess I lack imagination."

"So you don't have any ideas right now? Hm?"

Dick kissed him, fingertips now rubbing circles on Damian's inner thigh. He was trying not to glance too obviously at Damian's penis, still a little wary of what looks and touches were acceptable. He _was_ curious though, and he wished he knew the right words to describe what he wanted.

A desire without a name? Probably it did have a name, a flat, medical description that said nothing about the texture of Damian's skin beneath his hands or the coiling excitement in the pit of Dick's stomach. There would be slang words, too, he thought – a whole lexicon to describe body parts and taboo acts – Damian would probably know.

Dick bit his lip, betraying his uncertainty. "How should I...?"

Damian stroked Dick's cheek with the backs of his fingers, thumbnail catching on his bottom lip. "Just touch me like you touch yourself. You _do_ touch yourself, don't you? Don't tell me you're... perfectly chaste?"

"Of course I–" Dick flushed when this admission made Damian smile slyly. "Hey, it's normal! I've read... statistics."

Damian laughed and Dick wrinkled his nose at him, his fingers skating over Damian's hip and into the coarse hair below his navel. He kissed Damian, wanting to distract himself with something relatively familiar as he put his hand on the other man's penis, hesitantly squeezing around the base. Damian broke the kiss and panted against Dick's neck, moving his own hand to cover Dick's, urging him to grip tighter and move in a faster rhythm. He let go when Dick's touches became more confident, instead gripping Dick's shoulder, fingers clenching and short nails biting into the skin.

Dick pulled back a little so he could watch Damian's face. The younger man's breathing was shallow and raspy, and he alternated between letting his eyes fall closed and meeting Dick's gaze with an intense look.

Dick remembered lying awake in a dormitory at the children's home, listening to the sounds of rustling and laboured breathing as boys furtively touched themselves under cover of darkness and thick wool blankets. It was something not talked about, something that Dick had therefore instinctively known to be shameful. Now, on top of the covers, in the (dim) light of day, it didn't seem that way at all – it was open and honest. Emboldened by this thought, Dick glanced down and began watching himself stroking Damian.

"Yeah, you like that?" Damian whispered hoarsely. "You like seeing my dick in your hand, Dick?"

Dick moaned at the obscenity of the statement, hips twitching. Then he laughed, helplessly, resting his head against Damian's clavicle.

"Yeah I like it," he said, offering the other man an embarrassed smile. "It looks different to mine..."

"Ah, I'm circumcised."

"Oh..." Dick frowned, pulling back a little. "Did that hurt?"

"I don't remember. It was done when I was an infant." Damian's eyelids fluttered as Dick's grip loosened. "Ah... don't stop!"

"Just like this?" Dick moved again.

"Faster. You don't have to be gentle with me - I'm... I'm close."

Fascinated by the looks of pleasure evident on Damian's face and in the rolling movement of his hips, the curling of his toes, Dick tightened his hold and worked his wrist until the muscles of his arm protested. Damian shuddered and arched, leaning up to catch Dick's mouth in a sloppy, breathless kiss. Then he let out a sharp, almost surprised-sounding moan, and Dick felt a wetness on his hand. He looked down and saw the pearly trail of semen on his knuckles and Damian's abdomen.

Damian ran his tongue over his bottom lip and took a deep, shaky breath. Then he opened his eyes and glanced at where Dick's hand was still on him, holding his softening shaft.

"Sorry," he said. "I should have stopped you. Does that... disgust you?"

"No," Dick answered, still feeling vaguely shocked but also excited and – what? – accomplished? "No," he said again, smiling as he leaned in for another kiss. "It's just... a lot of firsts for one day, I guess."

When he had caught his breath, Damian rolled off the bed and went over to the washstand in the corner. He quickly cleaned himself up and then padded over and handed Dick a towel. Dick rubbed his hand quickly and tossed it over the back of a chair.

Damian sat down on the edge of the bed and tapped his fingers on Dick's belt-buckle. "Can I do something for you?"

"Is it on the list of scary-sounding things?"

"Yes, but I'm confident that you will like it. It's not painful."

"Is it something you like?"

"It's something every man likes," Damian grinned in a way that made Dick slightly apprehensive, but he got off the bed and finished undressing. He turned away to do so, then felt foolish when he thought of how relaxed Damian appeared to be naked.

Damian smiled at him when he turned around. "Your body is... exquisite. But I suppose you know that."

"It's not... I'm not..." Dick stuttered, feeling ridiculous as he lay down by the other man's side.

Damian shook his head. "I wanted you from almost the first moment I saw you. In the classroom, I thought you were just some would-be bohemian intellectual, but then in the gymnasium when I watched you move..." Damian's eyes flashed and he kissed Dick again, deeply and with a hint of desperation. "Then I knew you were something special, talented – out of the ordinary."

Damian slid down by Dick's hip, lying on his belly with one leg crooked out to the side. Dick became so fixated on the shifting muscles of Damian's back and the perfect curve of his buttocks, that it took him by surprise when Damian tilted his chin forwards and opened his mouth to draw his tongue all the way up the underside of his penis.

"Mother of– holy– fuck!" Dick blurted out, shocking himself and making Damian hum in amusement. Then Dick felt fingertips grasping him just below the glans (that was its name – more unsexy medical terms). Damian gently pulled back his foreskin and began lapping at the highly sensitive tip. Dick could feel himself leaking copiously – he thought dimly that it couldn't be hygienic for Damian to swallow that, but the younger man made a noise like he was enjoying it and started to suck him.

Dick screwed his eyes shut, losing himself to the heat and the wetness, the coiling sensation in the pit of his stomach. _Close... so close – already_. He didn't quite have the wherewithal to be embarrassed by this. Dick had always wondered why people put themselves in dangerous or disgraceful situations in pursuit of sex – now he understood with perfect clarity.

His eyes flew open as Damian's movements deepened. He looked down and moaned when he noticed the way the head of his penis was distending Damian's cheek. Damian was _smiling_ – he could feel it in the stretch of his muscles.

It was dirty and – _oh!_ – incredible.

Damian hummed as if he was the one receiving pleasure – and maybe he was, if how Dick had felt touching him was any indication. The vibrations made Dick lose control completely, he cried out as he as he spiraled into orgasm, squeezing the back of Damian's neck before collapsing onto the mattress.

Damian coughed a little and gave a raspy little laugh as he pulled himself back up the bed.

"It's polite to warn your lover when you're going to do that."

'Oh, sorry..." Dick said drowsily. "I didn't realise there was an etiquette."

"Very funny. I don't mind the taste but I'd rather not actually _inhale_ it."

"Mmm... sorry."

"It's alright." He felt Damian's lips brushing against his shoulder and the weight of an arm draped over his waist.

"It was better than 'alright', you know. It was..."

"A revelation?" Damian offered. Dick could feel Damian's lip curving against the flesh of his upper arm.

"Hmm... _that_."

The rain had cleared up and the sun had come out again, so it was warm enough to stay lying on top of the covers. A partially open sash window brought in the faint sound of music – the Italian family next door were playing crackly old opera records on a phonograph.

Damian frowned with his eyes closed and Dick kissed the wrinkle it made between his eyebrows.

"Puccini," he said, in that priggish, matter-of-fact tone of his, just before his breathing evened out.

Dick listened. He was right of course – _La bohème_.

He closed his eyes and gently ruffled Damian's hair, stroking the nape of his neck with the side of a thumb. He could feel the tickle of Damian's breath on his chest, the dry warmth of his lover's body pressed against his side (that was the word Damian had used - 'lover')... it was intimate, he supposed. He had never been able to feel this way with others – there had been too many boundaries, conventions... risks.

Not that this wasn't risky – it was only so in a different way. They were bound together now by a secret and both would lose by its discovery.

He thought of the first time he had met Damian, the shrewdness beyond his years that was evident in his expressions and the glint of his eyes. Underneath it all there had been a sadness which Dick now understood – his life could contain only stolen moments of contentment, like this. Then Dick thought about the Wayne patriarch sitting opposite him at that perfunctory interview and a sense of indignation rose up in his chest and chased away his drowsiness. He saw for the first time that this wasn't just Damian's fight, it was also his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here comes the law bit: Until a U.S. Supreme Court decision of 2003 finally abolished sodomy laws in all fifty states, the decriminalization of homosexuality in America was piecemeal. Gotham is frequently compared to either Chicago (in the state of Illinois, where the laws were repealed in 1962) or New York (laws invalidated in 1980)... so, yeah, it's a given that homosexual activity would be illegal in the context of this story. Sentences for those convicted could be anything from a substantial fine to ten years in prison, but enforcement varied.
> 
> The preserved meat dish from Morocco which Damian mentions is [khlea](http://moroccanfood.about.com/od/glossary/g/khlea_khlii.htm), and it doesn't look all that gross in the recipe. Then I saw [this brave gourmand](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=em9mCeScELY) eating it (watch from about 2.50). And this non-intrepid irishwoman can safely say, DO NOT WANT.


End file.
